


fire and blood

by sansast4rk



Series: a song of ice and fire and blood [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, dany's pov, dark! Dany, jonsa, takes places immediately after episode 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 13:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18572545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansast4rk/pseuds/sansast4rk
Summary: Did he know of his claim to the Iron Throne this entire time? Was he using her, manipulating her into believing he loved her?Daenerys is having a hard time trusting Jon's word, and wonders if he's been lying to her so he could steal away her dragons for the war, then steal the throne away from her afterwards. But then she sees him saying goodbye to Sansa before the battle, and sees him look at her in a way that he's never once looked at her, and she figures out the truth: Jon Snow is not only a treasonous usurper, but he's also in love with his sister.(dark!dany + jonsa one shot that takes place immediately after the end of episode 2)





	fire and blood

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea bouncing around my head since after the last ep so...I couldn't help myself lmao. This is from Dany's POV, but to be clear, I do NOT support s8 Dany. I just thought it would be fun to write it from her perspective—how she sees Jon and Sansa, and how she views Jon's intentions. This pretty much is her last descent into FULL ON mad queen, so yeah. It was fun to write.
> 
> (BTW, Jon hasn't told Sansa yet about his feelings, or how he isn't her brother, but from their interaction, Daenerys assumes he has. She also assumes Sansa is in on his "plan")

When Jon told her that he wanted to say goodbye to his family, she told him (with a nod) that she was going to mount Drogon and prepare for battle to give him privacy to do so. But instead she stops behind the wall outside of the courtyard and stays there, unseen, waiting. She’s not sure what _for_ yet, but she has a feeling she’ll know soon.

Just yesterday she wouldn’t have even _thought_ about sneaking around looking for answers, because she thought Jon was honorable enough to always tell her the truth. But that was when she trusted him, and she isn’t sure she can anymore.

Did he know of his claim to the Iron Throne this entire time? Was he using her, manipulating her into believing he loved her? Why would he tell her of his claim right before the war began? Was it to throw her off, to get what he wanted, then hope she was killed in war before he had to fulfill his promise of helping her sit on the Iron Throne? Especially when it was him who had claim the whole time?

So here she is in the dark, cold night, standing outside the gate so she can hear of his schemes firsthand. She doesn’t want to be too impulsive (as she knows she has been before) because she really _has_ begun to care for Jon, and maybe he _didn’t_ know of his claim and he’s just as confused as she is.

Given that, though, she _also_ doesn’t want help from her advisors—Ser Jorah, Varys, or Tyrion—who have mislead her over and over again. She doesn’t trust them or their word anymore, and she knows that even _they_ could have been betraying her behind her back, too. She has to have faith in herself and in her own judgment, just like she used to before she had “advisors.”

She knows that if Jon were to give anything of importance away, it would be to his siblings (well, cousins, now—but how longhave _they_ known that?), so she listens and watches, and decides how she should sentence _Aegon Targaryen_ : is he or is he not guilty of treason?

She clearly remembers hearing Jon tell her he wanted to say goodbye to his _family_ (as if it was more than one person), and yet she only hears Sansa’s voice speaking with him. Something about that turns her stomach tightly—giving her that gnawing feeling where you _know_ you’re right about something, but it’s too difficult to fully process as _real_ yet. Or maybe she just refuses to process it as real because it's not _just_ too difficult—it's also too painful.

She knows now that it was jealousy in her own heart at first when she noticed the way Jon looked at Sansa, and how he gazed at her as if she already _was_ his queen—no bend of the knee required. He has a certain respect for her, a protectiveness of her, and a fondness for her that Daenerys can’t understand. She doesn’t know why he’s different with her, or why he smiles differently with her, or how his shoulders relax with her. At one point she wondered if that’s just how Jon acts with his siblings, but then she saw him with Arya and it was much, much different than it was with Sansa, so it all confused her even more.

She also saw it in the way he would get in his cups some nights on their boat ride to White Harbor and talk in _detail_ about Arya and Bran, and of his fallen brothers Robb and Rickon. But somehow he never spoke of Sansa—even when drunk. Even when she's the only one of his siblings he had seen in _years._ Even when she prodded and pried as hard as she could while still maintaining her composure, he would only give a tight-lipped smile and a curt reply. For the longest time she assumed he must have a form of hatred for Sansa, or that they must have parted on bad terms. But here now, when she sees them together…she isn’t so sure anymore.

She isn’t so sure about the way Sansa’s looked at her ever since she arrived at Winterfell, either, or how she speaks to her, or how she tenses up when she’s near. She knows how women work, and how they express things, and this isn’t direct _anger_ from Sansa—it’s jealousy. She even thought it could have been jealousy stemmed from knowing that _she_ has claim to the throne when Sansa only has (had) the cold, dreary north. (Who wouldn’t be jealous of having all seven kingdoms in comparison? She couldn’t blame her for that.) But still, it wasn’t that, either. And although it took her much too long to figure it all out, she still did.

She sees it all now, even though she was too blind and trusting to before. Jon isn’t in love her—with his dragon queen—and he never was. He’s in love with his sister.

Even just by hearing their voices together in the courtyard she knows it. It all makes sense now, as she thinks back to all of the things that should have pointed her to it but she was too foolish and trusting to see what was right in front of her.

But she wants to witness the lies, the secrets, the treason with her own eyes. So she clenches her jaw and balls up her fists, tilting her head to watch the betrayal unfold.

”Did you say goodbye to Bran and Arya?” Sansa asks, trying to keep her calm exterior intact so she doesn’t make it all harder on both of them when they part. “Just in case?”

”Aye, I did,” Jon gulps with a nod, his chest expanding as he takes in a a breath. “Just in case.”

They look at each other like they’re terrified, but neither will say it out loud. They hold themselves together much longer than she thinks they will, before they finally give in and embrace.

Jon is holding Sansa in his arms now and stroking her hair—clutching onto her as if she’s the only reason he’s fighting in the war at all. He holds tightly as if he _can’t_ let her go, before breathing in the scent of her neck, her hair, thinking it’s the last time he ever will.

Once their hug ends, Jon presses a lingering kiss to her forehead, keeping her close. Then his own forehead presses to hers, and he sighs out a shallow breath as he shuts his eyes, letting it all wash over him for as long as he possibly can.

“Stay alive, Jon,” Sansa whispers, leaning back slightly to look in his eyes. They dart between his, as if she’s saying something _without_ really saying it. “Please just stay alive.”

“I didn’t know if I’d ever have a reason to fight again. To stay alive,” he gulps, looking at Sansa in a way that Daenerys always assumed he was just entirely incapable of. But no, it’s just that he was incapable of showing it to _her—_ the woman who has given him dragons, and love, and two armies for his war _._ “But I do now. I’ll fight for you, and Bran, and Arya. And for the north. For Winterfell. For our home.”

 _What could Sansa Stark possibly give Jon that I couldn’t?_ she thinks, the anger building in her further,  _I gave him everything, and he betrays me for his sister—his sister who has no real power at all._

Sansa smiles at him, but in the bittersweetness of a goodbye. She breathes out the ice-cold winter air, and squeezes his hand tightly in hers, whispering out, “The pack survives.”

“Aye, the pack survives,” Jon replies, and they’re both smiling now. But it’s sad and full of fear—both knowing this could be the last time they ever even see each other again.

Sansa nods sadly at him when she knows he has to leave, clearly restraining from letting out all of the emotions she’s attempting to suppress as he parts from her. Their hands are clasped together until he’s far enough for them to slip out, and his eyes fall to the ground as he returns to duty and mounts his horse.

Daenerys pulls back then and presses her back to the wall there—her nostrils flaring, her jaw clenched, and with the fire and fury of all of the dragons before her running through her veins. It takes everything in her not to call for Drogon and sentence the lying, treasonous Starks to their rightful death with _one word._ But no, the war will come tonight and they will die much worse deaths that way.

As Jon passes through the gate beside her on his horse to head into battle, she sees him wipe away a tear as he says goodbye to the woman he loves for possibly the last time.

He’s never shed a tear for her.

Jon Snow—no, _Aegon Targaryen_ —the man who betrayed her. The man who pretended to bend the knee to his queen even when he knew _he_ had the claim, and the man who pretended to love her so he could manipulate her and take her dragons to war to be slaughtered. All while _really_ being in love with his jealous, cold cousin.

Daenerys holds onto the fury she feels, because she needs it. She wants to feel it _all_ now after suppressing it for so long, and after trying to hide it all away from him. But no, not anymore; she’s _finished_ talking to lords and kings and _trusted advisors_ —she only has faith in one person: herself. She should have never even forgotten that.

So she mounts Drogon and grits her teeth, watching from above the battlefield as Jon and his army charge the undead.

 _If Jon Snow won’t fight my war,_ she thinks to herself, a rush of satisfaction coursing through her blood as she rises through the cold winter sky and the wind whips through her hair, _Then I’ll let him fight his own. And I’ll let it destroy his precious north and his loving sister, too._

And then she flies away, leaving everyone who betrayed her behind, and heads towards the entire reason she came to Westeros in the first place: for the throne.


End file.
